“She had been thrown clear over some bushes. You must see the obvious, Mrs. Raisin. In the dark and with the wig and glasses, someone obviously mistook her for you. Have you told me everything you know about the Kylie Stokes case?”
“Yes,” said Agatha. She could not tell him now, at this late date, about the attempt on her life.
“We’d better take time and go over everything – and I mean, everything – you know again. Someone obviously thinks you do know something that might incriminate him.”
So Agatha talked and talked. The policewoman took notes in rapid shorthand. The cats, sensing Agatha’s distress, coiled around her ankles.
And then a policeman appeared in the room, escorting John Armitage. Oh, God, thought Agatha. I must do something. He might tell them that I was nearly the victim of a hit and run.
“Sit down, Mr. Armitage,” said Brudge. John sat down next to Agatha on the sofa.
He outlined what had happened to Mrs. Anstruther-Jones. John gave an exclamation and turned to Agatha. “Why, that’s what…”
Agatha threw herself into his arms and kissed him on the mouth. “Don’t tell them,” she mumbled against his lips, and then drew away, saying, “Oh, darling. I am so frightened. I lent her my wig and glasses and somebody obviously thought it was me.”
John looked at Agatha impassively and then turned to Brudge. “I suppose you want to know where I was last night?”
“More than that. I want to know everything you have found out. You have been investigating a murder with Mrs. Raisin here. Somebody obviously finds her a threat. Let’s go over again what you’ve got.”
While John talked, Agatha nervously fingered her lips. She found that one sturdy hair was growing just above her upper lip and blushed red with mortification. Had he felt it? Should she excuse herself and run up to the bathroom and yank it out? But if she left the room, and without her controlling presence, John might let slip about the attempt on her life.
Such was her worry about that hair that she could hardly feel all the fear she should have been feeling about what had been another attempt on her life.
Brudge turned back to her. “Did Mrs. Anstruther-Jones tell you who she was meeting?”
“Tom someone,” said Agatha, “I know – Tom Clarence.” Brudge said to his detective, “Get on to that right away. He might still be there. Now, Mrs. Raisin, I have warned you before and I am warning you again – no more amateur investigation. If it weren’t for you, that woman would still be alive. If you plan to leave the area, you must let us know where you are going. The same goes for you, Mr. Armitage. You will now accompany us to headquarters, where you will both make formal statements.”
“I’ll just go to the bathroom first,” said Agatha. She fled up the stairs and into the bathroom, found a pair of tweezers and yanked the offending hair out. Damn middle age and all its indignities.
¦
John and Agatha had followed the police cars to Worcester. After they had given their statements and were making their way back to Carsely, John said stiffly, “I’ll drop you off and then I really ought to get down to some work.”
“I wasn’t making a pass at you,” said Agatha, studying his stern profile. “I was trying to shut you up from saying anything about the attempt on my life.”
“I gathered that. Nonetheless, I do have to work and we have been told not to interfere anymore. That poor woman. What a mess!”
Agatha realized that they only connection she had with John was Kylie’s murder. Now he would no longer have time for her.
It must have been that hair, she thought. He must have felt it and got a disgust of me. The world is full of young, pretty, smooth-skinned women; why should he even look at me?
She gave a strangled sob.
“There, now,” said John. “Don’t cry. I know you must be feeling dreadfully guilty about poor Mrs. Anstrather- Jones’s death. But you lent her the disguise in good faith.”
And Agatha now did feel guilty about the fact that she was sobbing over middle-aged vanity and not Mrs. Anstruther-Jones’s death.
She blew her nose defiantly and then said, “I wonder how the police got on with Barrington.”
“We may never know now,” said John, underlining the fact that as far as he was concerned, the case was closed.
¦
Later that day Agatha decided to go and see Mrs. Bloxby. The vicar’s wife greeted her, exclaiming, “I heard it on the news. Poor Mrs. Anstruther-Jones.”
“It’s worse than you know,” said Agatha, following her in. She told her about the wig and glasses.
“If she hadn’t been so very silly, it wouldn’t have happened,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.”
“It’s a lovely day. Go into the garden and have a cigarette and I’ll bring you something.”
Agatha went out to a table in the garden and sat on a rustic seat under the shade of a magnificent wisteria which hung down over a pergola. Mrs. Bloxby had a magic touch with flowers and the garden was a riot of daffodils, tulips, impatiens and a late-flowering cherry tree whose blossoms were rising and drifting on the lightest of breezes.
The garden bordered the churchyard where ancient stones leaned this way and that among the tussocky grass.
Mrs. Bloxby emerged bearing a tray with a glass of chilled wine and a plate of ham salad, saying, “There you are. You’ll feel better when you’ve had something.”
As Agatha ate, Mrs. Bloxby said, “Yes, she didn’t have to wear the wig and glasses. You say she was going to meet an old school friend? So why the secrecy? She envied you, you know. I think she wanted to be like you.”
“That makes me feel worse,” groaned Agatha. “Now the police have told me very firmly to back off and John doesn’t want to have anything to do with me and I think it’s because I kissed him.”
“Oh, Mrs. Raisin!”
“No, it’s not what you think. I was trying to warn him not to tell the police something. But you see, I’d got this hair growing above my upper lip and maybe he felt it against his skin and got disgusted.”
The vicar’s wife emitted an odd sound. Agatha glared at her. Were Mrs. Bloxby not such a lady, Agatha could have sworn she actually sniggered.
“Mrs. Raisin, here is a man who has just learned that a woman who used to visit him as much as she could has been brutally killed. Then you kiss him. I really don’t think he would have noticed if you’d had a full beard.”
“May I stay here for a bit?” asked Agatha. “I don’t feel like going back to my place. I let the cats out into the garden before I went to Worcester and they’ve been fed.”
“Stay as long as you like,” said Mrs. Bloxby, and then started guiltily as she heard her husband arriving home.
She rose hurriedly to her feet. “Back in a minute.”
Agatha heard the murmur of voices. Then she heard the vicar exclaim, “That wretched woman is nothing but trouble.”
Mrs, Bloxby returned to the garden just as Agatha heard the vicar’s study door slam.
“On second thoughts, I’d better be going.”
“Oh, do stay.”
“No, I planned to phone Roy Silver and see if there was any free-lance work going. I never got round to it. I’ll do it now. Keep myself occupied.”
A sad Agatha walked along to her cottage. Nobody liked her and nobody wanted her.
She was just turning into Lilac Lane when she saw Joanna Field going into John’s cottage.
She hesitated. Should she join them? What had Joanna found out?
Probably nothing, she thought sourly. Just finding some excuse to call on him.
Agatha decided to check her face for any other hairs and then put on a face-pack. The green goo was just beginning to harden when the doorbell rang.
